To Time
by snarechan
Summary: Gloved finger trailing along the smooth etched side of a shot glass, Ashelin determined that the glassware was certainly cheap…


To Time

By Snare-chan

**Pairings**: Hints of Torn/Ashelin and Ashelin/Jak.  
**Ratings**: T  
**Category(ies)**: General  
**Warning(s)**: Cussing  
**Status**: One-shot, complete  
**Summary**: Gloved finger trailing along the smooth etched side of a shot glass, Ashelin determined that the glassware was certainly cheap…

**Notes**: Based in and around Jak 3 and probably a couple days after our hot elf boy and company were given the boot. As with most of my (better) Jak universe works I had no intentions, ideas or plots in mind when I started this – perhaps an excuse as to why Torn and Ashelin were suddenly not…Torn and Ashelin. XD

Instead I seemed to have somehow concentrated on a side of Ashelin you just don't really see. The undecided, wary but fiery inner redhead version. Hopefully I didn't butcher the poor gal beyond repair. And remember kids, drinking is bad for your kidneys!

**Disclaimer**: I dun own Jak and Daxter, Jak II, Jak 3 or Jak…anything; wish I did like everyone else. They should put Jak in stock, then I'd buy it all!

* * *

Gloved finger trailing along the smooth etched side of a shot glass, Ashelin determined that the glassware was certainly cheap. It was smudgy and unresponsive to her touch; she was reminded how very different her palace life and this new one really were. She was used to crystal-ware of the highest quality and fine wines aged to perfection, not whiskey and day-old rye.

Though to be frank, it wasn't like she missed the high life.

Sure, she'd had it all – the fame, the power, the resources. Though lower in rank than most of her father's closest men, she had more command than even Erol in select situations, and a bigger suite to boot. Silk sheets, queen sized bed, high-end view…

But talk about meaningless. Upon taking hold of her first shotgun, she quickly realized just how useless a fancy cage was when facing real life. She'd been sheltered, bated, covered in a safety blanket that was just as restraining as any pair of handcuffs. The Baron's only child she may have been, but she was used and deceived like the best of them.

It hurt terribly to admit that now. Her own father, a traitor and a tyrant. Oh, she knew how rough he could be. He'd threaten to send her away to a boarding school in a terribly far-off city if she didn't quit the Krimzon Guard, or later, strip her of her rank if she didn't obey him. He would string people along like animals, leading them on with promises he could break at a moment's notice if he only changed his mind, abusing their weaknesses until they were broken-in.

She'd almost gotten to that point once.

The soft tap of a bottle being set on the tabletop snapped her out of her musings. Glancing up from her cup of brown liquid not really worthy of being called a drink, she first spotted the large, freshly-opened container of twenty-year-old bourbon. Rare, very rich stuff. Then she looked up higher, catching the face of the bottle's deliverer. It was Torn.

He said neither 'hello' nor any other word in the dictionary in greeting, instead taking residence in the same booth as her. Not knowing what to say herself, she merely nodded towards him before receding back into her thoughts. Neither of them were for idle chitchat, not in making or partaking in it. Somehow, they always ended up being about business.

But what business? Her father was gone, Erol was gone, the city was crumbling…besides metal heads and the economy, there was nothing more to discuss than what had already been brought up in the morning's meeting.

"You're thinking about _him_, aren't you?"

Except, obviously, for that subject. Unable to withhold her wince, she tried to cover it up in time with a swift drink from the foul-tasting filth in her glass. It was useless. The other wasn't a head scout and underground agent for absolutely nothing. He had probably seen it coming way before she even had time to react. At least he didn't look jealous or upset over it.

He sighed though, leaning more heavily in his seat. "On some level, I can't really blame you. Everyone is concerned for his wellbeing."

"Even you?" She asked, her drying throat having only small hints of scratching from the strong drink and the time she'd spent consuming it.

"I lost the best soldier I've ever had."

That didn't mean he cared, though she saw past the act easily and pinpointed what she hoped was a little emotion. Sometimes it worried her that even she couldn't tell what he was thinking on his off days – if he even had them. But was it really concern?

"And a part of me is dying as I admit it, but life without that rodent doesn't feel the same."

She finally cracked a smile, albeit a weak and stiff one, at his words. Perhaps he had been drinking way before she had even raided for her first. Back in the day she could easily recall him taking part in several six-packs on his free hours, before he became a Commander. How horrible of her to think it, but what good old days those had been.

"Maybe I'm lying when I tell myself I don't miss it."

"Hm?"

Starting out of her thoughts again, Ashelin mentally kicked herself for letting that slip. Really, she must be losing it if she was fading in and out like that with company. Especially in front of someone like Torn.

"It's nothing, and for your information, I _wasn't_ thinking about _him_."

At the other's skeptical look, she finished off her drink, not bothering to swirl the liquid on her tongue and instead depositing it right down her throat to burn a path all the way to the pit of her stomach. The other hadn't let up on his staring once all the while.

"I'd been…thinking." She finally stated simply, pouring herself a glass of that store which Torn had brought out from who-knows-where. Probably something Daxter had been saving in the back for a wealthy vender or special occasion. Good thing he wasn't here to see what had happened to his beloved bar – his little heart would be broken up for sure. For some reason, this had her pouring more of the fine bit of alcohol.

"Ah."

A silence fell between them then. It dragged out the longer they sat together, like a heavy rain cloud closing in, dark and constricting until she felt the need to speak.

"Whatever happened, Torn?"

Even she wasn't clear on what exactly she was talking about now. It could have been about the days when they were just equal soldiers, when he'd quit and started towards freeing the people, when bonds and honor enticed her, when _he_ had freed the city…any point in time but the here and now. What they had now wasn't good and old. It was bitter and distant.

"You know the answer to that as well as I do."

"Humor me; my memories are jaded at the moment." Which wasn't a complete lie; the alcohol in her system, though not strong enough to cloud her judgment, was loosening up her thoughts and emotions.

"Jak."

The name was spoken in the same calm and rational tone Torn used for just about everything else. But for her it was like a hissed curse, a burning gunshot wound, and a heartache all in one. What was more upsetting was how, once again, no emotion was behind it. Nothing was ever behind the other man's words, unless it involved independence and his men. It always had to be one of the two.

Closing her eyes, she turned her empty glass upside down, setting the open rim against the surface of the table. This wasn't right. None of this seemed _right_.

"Is it really?"

"It's always been about him Ashelin; don't deny it. It doesn't suit you."

She wanted to spit at him how he of all people would know. But honestly, how could she? The minute he stepped foot in this city, he'd brought nothing but change. Change in the people, the city…and her. But some things, she was learning quickly, didn't change no matter what. Looking up at the other from across the table, she eyed him coolly.

"And why, pray tell, would you say it has anything to do with him?"

"For one, you've yet to say his name since he's left," Torn pointed out casually.

Her eye twitched.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

His fingers were still and strong against the bottle as he poured himself another round, looking unfazed at the harshness growing in her tone. This show left her more then a little miffed, remembering a time when even he quaked in his boots before her fury.

"I heard you did the same when I left the gua-"

"That's different," she interrupted, wrenching the bottle free from his hand and giving in to pour herself another glass. Flipping her cup over and beginning to pour in one fluid motion, she had it halfway full before she went at it again.

"You left of your own free will; he was kicked out. There is a huge difference between the two of you."

"Of course, he's right up your alley."

Practically bristling at the snide remark, she nearly slammed the container flat out on the table, landing him with a heated glare all the same. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I meant in terms of stature. In his own way, he's inspiring to the public, strong willed, and a warrior…what did you think I meant?"

She didn't buy a word of it, noting his snide smirk a mile away. Even if he hadn't come out and said it, she sensed he was on to something. He _is_ young, and quite the soldier. First impressions aside (like she'd needed help at the time, hah!), he did stand out, especially in a Haven crowd where so very few were even remotely like him. It's not like she had a hard time admitting it; she knew he was handsome and a number of other things that attracted her. Nothing wrong with that.

Nothing wrong with that _at all_.

"You're right," she conceded at last, avoiding his previous question altogether. "There's potential in him. It's just…such a pity we lost him. Thinking about never being able to see him again, or have his help…"

Ashelin wasn't normally one lost for words, however, tonight they were not coming to her easily. Either the bourbon was indeed a very good year or she was losing her touch. She hated thinking it was one or the other.

"We've pulled through before and we can damn well do it again."

She nodded numbly, trying to remind herself of that. There had been a time before all of this had occurred. The whole lot of them - herself, Torn and the Underground had been going way before the blonde and his orange companion had shown up. It was just hard to recall such times.

How had she managed such a burden back then?

Well no matter. She was a strong woman and she'd find a way. She simply had to.

"You're right. Again," she attempted another grin like before, but fell short as the muscles in her face grew too taut to allow such an action. Pushing her glass away one last time, she started to rise from her seat before an arm shot out to stop her. She tensed, glancing down at the offending hand before it could touch the fabric of her jacket. Torn's fingers hovered there for a moment until he was certain he'd gained back her full attention.

"What was it you were thinking of earlier, Ashelin?"

Tilting her head just so, she pursed her lips in thought. It wasn't often the other man was…'interested' enough to be so outright, or at least towards her. Continuing to ease out of the booth, she at last shrugged.

"How the past should remain in the past."

And with that, she turned without a single glance back, sauntering out of the Naughty Ottsel and disappearing out into the muggy afternoon air to attend her duties as the Governess of Haven City.

-Fin-


End file.
